Losing
by Star the Foxhound
Summary: This fight isn’t over, if we keep fighting then we can still have a chance. If we give up now… Well, it’s not something I want to think about, and I’m not going to give up. If I’m going to go down, I’m going to go down fighting.


My first Hetalia fanfic... I hope the characters aren't written too out of character.

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We are losing… we are losing… we are losing… No, I've got to stop thinking that. If I keep thinking that, then where will the hope we have go? This fight isn't over, if we keep fighting then we can still have a chance. If we give up now… Well, it's not something I want to think about, and I'm not going to give up. If I'm going to go down, I'm going to go down fighting.

"G-Germany… I'm scared…" I hear Italy's voice behind me, his hands tightly gripping the cloth of the back of my uniform. He doesn't have to say that he's scared; I already know that he is. I'm scared too, only I'm not going to show it. I have to hold an example to him, because we have to keep fighting, whether we are scared or not.

The Allies are advancing towards us and I keep my eyes fixed on them. There's America leading the way. England and France are right behind him and Italy's grip on my uniform tights as I feel him tremble against me. "G-Germany…"

"It's alright," I say, not even looking at him. I can't afford to tear my eyes away from the others in front of us. I have to protect him as well as myself. But with the way this war has been going… I feel as if it's getting harder and harder.

"Germany."

This time it is America who speaks my name, and our eyes lock. "You know that you are losing the war," he says, "I'm winning, we're winning. Because I am the hero, you can't beat me."

"It's not over." My voice is hard, cold, but I carefully mask all emotion from my face. It's something I've become good at. I can't show fear, or weakness. I can't show them that I also know how the war is turning out. I know that we are losing, and I know that by saying that I'm not, that I'm just being stubborn. But I can't just give in.

"Surrender, Germany." It is America who speaks again, our eyes still locked as I shake my head.

I repeat myself. "It's not over."

"Surrender."

He is holding a gun, all of them are armed. Italy and I are not. At any moment in time, they just shot, for this time it is the Allies who have the favor. They can easily win this fight, here and now. But it feels instead as though time stands still, for a moment, until the sound of a gunshot rings though the air. It doesn't surprise me, I knew it was coming. The pain doesn't surprise me either, but it isn't serious, I know that without having to look. But it is enough to make me fall to my knees, the new wound in my leg causing it to give in.

"GERMANY!" Italy shouts my name and I turn my head to look at him, giving my head a small shake.

"I'm fine, Italy."

He has his white flag with him, another thing that doesn't surprise me. Italy doesn't know how to equip weapons for battle. He thinks that the white flag is his weapon. He gave one to me too, but I won't use it. I never will.

"Don't hurt me, I'll do anything!" Italy cries, waving the flag, as I kneel there still on the ground, the Allies staring at us. They are still armed; they still hold the odds in their hands.

America still holds the gun, the gun he used to shot me, points it towards Italy who only waves the white flag harder. "Don't shot me! I'll do anything, please!"

I have to protect him, to the very best of my ability. I get back to my feet, ignore the pain that goes up my leg as I start to step forward, but I am too late. Another bullet whips through the air, imbedding itself into Italy's chest.

He falls and I am by my side in a moment. As nations, it is hard for us to die, the wound shouldn't kill him, but I know that he'll need time to heal. I've got to get him out of here.

Italy let's out a sob, the white flag lying on the ground next to him. I ignore it and scoop Italy up into my arms, holding him against me as I turn to face the Allies. For a moment they watch us, then they turn and go. But I know that they will be back, the fight isn't over yet.

"It'll be alright, Italy," I say, turning around again and starting to limp as fast as I can in the direction of my own house, where I can make sure Italy receives the treatment he needs.

Despite the wound, it doesn't take me long to reach my home and I stop by the door, Italy still in my arms. If I'm going to open the door, I'll have to put Italy down for a moment, I have no choice.

But then the door flings open, and I come face to face with my brother. "West," he says.

My brother, Prussia, carefully takes Italy from my arms. I want to say something, but I am so tired, the wound in my leg throbbing. He must have seen the weariness past my emotionless face. Prussia knows me better then almost anyone.

We go inside, my brother leading the way as we go upstairs, to the bedrooms and I watch him lay Italy down on the bed. "He'll be alright, West."

"I know." I nod.

Italy hasn't made a sound for a while, and I wonder if he's awake as I step forward towards the bed, watching the raise and fall of his chest. He'll be fine, we are all still alive. But the war is slowly slipping out of our hands. We are all weary, tired. We are losing.


End file.
